


Come Fly With Me

by Korrigan131



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 08:34:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Korrigan131/pseuds/Korrigan131
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The two Englishmen end up on the same flight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Fly With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Implied Rob Smedley/Felipe Massa and Jenson Button/Sebastian Vettel  
> Set in the first part of the 2012 season.

_The glamorous lifestyle of Formula One,_ thinks Rob Smedley, sitting in another waiting room in another airport, waiting for another flight with insufficient legroom. Not even Felipe there to sneak him into first class or to keep him company in economy with stupid jokes and appalling music to laugh at. Not that that whole thing was going particularly well at the moment anyway... Rob sighs. Pretty much the entire technical team is on this flight, but he really doesn’t feel like talking to anyone right now, instead tucking himself away in a corner, nursing a cup of airport “coffee”. How coffee can be so summarily ruined by so-called experts, he really doesn’t know. Either way, he needs the caffeine – there’s work to be done on the flight over, _bloody F bloody 20 bloody 12_ – so he knocks it back as fast as he can bear.

“Ah, thank goodness, another Brit! All I can hear is Italian and I don’t understand a word!”  
  
Rob looks up as the McLaren driver flops into the seat next to him, all relaxed smiles and easy-going charisma. Jenson’s always so damn _amiable_ , and Rob’s really not in the mood to even be civil right now. He just wishes he knew how Jenson does it, because he can barely be bothered to answer with anything more than a grunt. It’s either that or reply in Italian, just to irritate him.

“Shouldn’t you be in first class or something?” he eventually manages.

Jenson looks a bit put out at the bluntness of the response, but doesn’t say anything about it. “Full. Was meant to be flying tomorrow, but I decided to head over earlier. The rest of the crew went this morning.”

Rob nods, looking down at his clipboard. There’s a moment of silence, while Rob tries to ignore the driver, and doesn’t actually read anything on the printouts on this lap. Then Jenson leans forward, looking and sounding very _earnest_ all of a sudden.

“Look, Rob, one Englishman to another, you look miserable as sin. And not just any old miserable, Britishly miserable, the _I’m not letting on how rubbish things really are_ miserable. Trust me, I can tell. I don’t think you’ve let Maranello change you quite that much. You can take the man out of England, but you can’t take England out of the man...” Rob raises an eyebrow, wondering what Jenson’s point is. “Anyway, I just wanted to say that if you ever want someone outside the team to just, chat, or something…” Jenson shrugs, and switches his serious expression into a mischievous grin, “well, I promise not to steal any notes on your car.”

Rob huffs derisively. “Trust me, it’s not 2007 anymore, you really wouldn’t want to. There’s nothing good on this car, it’s… well you know what it’s like. You’ve seen. We actually believed this one would break the mould. Fresh starts, eh? They never seem to work out. Just when you think things are going to get better, because they can’t get worse… It’ll take months to get the car up to scratch, months that Felipe just doesn’t have. And Felipe and I…” Rob stops his unexpected rant abruptly, too close to saying too much. “We’re not really seeing eye to eye right now.”

Jenson raises an eyebrow for a fraction of a second, before settling on an expression of understanding that makes it patently clear that he understands everything Rob _didn’t_ just say.

“I know the feeling. Red Bull’s season hasn’t exactly got off to the start they were after either.” _Oh_ , thinks Rob.

“When are they turning up then? Early I’d guess, if they’ve got work to do,” Rob ventures.

“No, they’re all flying out tomorrow.” _Definitely oh,_ and it’s Rob’s turn to look understanding. There had always been rumours about Seb and Jenson, but if you believed all the rumours then this sport would drive you mad. “Anyway, I wouldn’t worry too much about the car. Remember our testing last year?” Rob can’t be bothered to correct all the ways in which the situations are completely different, but he appreciates the thought, and smiles at least on one side of his face. There’s not really a reply to that though, so Rob just swigs his coffee. Which is now lukewarm as well as terrible, and Jenson can’t help but laugh at the face Rob makes.

“C’mon,” he stays, standing up, “I think we both could do with something stronger than rubbish coffee.” It takes about half a second for Rob to go from _I really shouldn’t_ to _To hell with it_ , and Jenson looks genuinely delighted when he agrees.

*

Two or three drinks later Rob and Jenson are propping up the bar, and almost giggling. _I blame the heat,_ _definitely the heat,_ thinks Rob, as he almost snorts his drink out through his nose. They’ve never really spoken before, but it’s near impossible not to get on with Jenson. His laid back charm isn’t grating on Rob’s nerves anymore, and they’re talking far too easily, though Rob’s not sure how much of that is just because of the alcohol. Either way, he’s laughing too hard at the driver’s jokes, and they’re sharing favourite stories of grand prixs past, of the ridiculous antics of Felipe and Seb (ever the troublemakers), and Rob’s wondering precisely _why_ they’ve never really spoken. Because he’s making Rob feel _good_ , and it’s been too long since he felt like this.

Their flight is called, and they reluctantly leave the bar, but it’s a free-for-all for seats in economy so there’s no need for the two Brits to split up. They find a place right at the back, as far away from the rest of the F1 circus as they can manage, Jenson whispering conspiratorially far too close to Rob’s ear about being seen with the enemy. Rob dismisses the tingle that runs up his spine from Jenson’s breath on his skin as down to the alcohol as well, and replies that they have just spent an hour in a bar getting drunk together, so really, it’s a bit late to worry about things like that.

They keep talking. Rob finds himself almost fascinated by Jenson – the man never stops smiling. Never. Even when he’s being serious or sad or just listening he still smiles, just with a different one for each emotion. He touches as he talks too, hands clapping on shoulders, brushing against legs, touches to arms, taps on thighs, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on Rob. _Constantly flirting_ , Rob realises. It’s gratifying, that someone that damn gorgeous (because let’s be honest, Jenson is gorgeous) is flirting with him, but this is Jenson. _He’d flirt with a brick wall_ , Rob thinks. He tries not to meet Jenson’s eyes too often, because when he does he finds his cheeks colouring from the twinkling scrutiny he’s being subjected to. Instead Rob talks with his hands (an Italian trait he’s picked up from years in Maranello) and watches them as he speaks instead, only sneaking the occasional sideways glance at the driver.

It’s mesmerising, how someone can be so simultaneously laid back, so charming, so magnetic, so intense, and so focussed; a magic unique to drivers. _Successful drivers_ , Rob corrects himself, drivers who had honed who they were into a relaxed confidence. Rob is almost jealous, because as Jenson talks he can almost see how Felipe could be, might have been; his overexcitement and exuberance tempered into an easy-going _happiness_. And Rob wishes it could have been different.

But it isn’t. It’s Jenson sitting next to him, laughing, smiling, both of them a little fuzzy around the edges from the alcohol. And said relaxed confidence is just so damn attractive.

The flight is quiet, so they keep their voices low, and as the alcohol settles in their veins their conversation turns confessional. Jenson tells him about how hard it can be with Seb, clearly relieved to have someone he can really talk to about it, and Rob wonders if anyone else actually _knows_. But Rob can out-mope Jenson with ease, because things with him and Felipe can’t get much worse – it’s not easy to keep a relationship going with that much pressure, that much negativity, and the end now horribly, horribly in sight. Rob still feels part of the team, whilst Felipe doesn’t, and that’s tearing them apart almost more than anything else they’ve had to endure.

“So what are you going to do when Felipe leaves?”

Rob shrugs. “I guess it’d be over. Different teams and all that.” It’s something he’d realised a long time ago, but that only recently has actually crystallised into a _fact_ ; that there’s going to be a part of his life that’s _After Felipe_.

“Never stopped me and Seb.”

“You’re both drivers, it’s not the same.” _You don’t work together, your success doesn’t depend on each other,_ he thinks. _It’s nowhere near the same._

“Really? Isn’t it?”

“No, it isn’t.”

“What if you’d started at different teams?” Rob doesn’t like hypotheticals, but when he turns to reply he realises Jenson isn’t talking about him and Felipe anymore. “Or, say, you met someone from another team. You wouldn’t do anything with them then?”

“It depends,” Rob replies, not able to take his eyes off Jenson, until the other man leans dangerously close to Rob, his lips almost pressing against his ear, his hand moving to rest on Rob's thigh.

“So what if I told you all the things I wanted to do to you right now? And if I said _join me_ ,” Jenson leans back a touch, and flicks his eyes towards the loo behind them, “you’d say no?”  
  
Rob’s wide eyes flick to Jenson’s dark ones, and he licks his suddenly dry lips. He’s not half as drunk anymore, but he is feeling daring, and after all, what’s he got to lose these days? _Fuck it, why not._

“No, I don’t think I’d say no.” It comes out lower than he expects.

“Alright then. _Join me_.” Jenson slips out of his seat with a wink and a grin.

The moment Jenson leaves Rob’s sensible side kicks in, but for the most part he gives it a damn good ignoring, instead trying to figure out a subtle length of time to wait. It turns into the longest two minutes of his life, he swears, before he slides out and pads to the back of the plane, caught between being convinced that everyone knows what he’s doing, and not giving a damn if they do. His knock is so gentle that it’s nearly silent, his heart going a little bit mental in his chest in the milliseconds it takes for the door to unlock. He slips inside, the door barely shut before Jenson is crowding him up against the wall of the cramped cubicle.

“I almost thought you weren’t coming,” Jenson almost whispers, his hands against the wall on either side of Rob’s head. For a moment Rob hesitates, but it’s all too natural for his hands to rest on Jenson’s hips, and he smiles. It’s a smile that Jenson realises most people don’t get to see, that’s darker, and with an intensity behind the eyes.

“Well we’ve had the chat, I thought I should take you up on the _or something._ ”

Jenson grins, and presses his lips against Rob’s, holding himself there. _God_ he wants him, but he needs to be certain Rob’s sure, so he waits, a gap between their bodies, nothing but lips touching. Then Rob is kissing back, pushing the driver back until they’re up against the other wall and their bodies are pressed right up against each other. Jenson groans and lets his mouth fall open, fingers threading through the dark hair at Rob’s neck to pull the engineer closer, while Rob’s hands clutch at Jenson’s shirt and slide up his back. It’s a clumsy kiss that tastes of alcohol and airport coffee (still), messily learning each other’s mouths, that gets increasingly desperate as pent up frustrations and just the need for _someone_ and _something_ pour their way into the moment until breathing quickens, skin starts flushing, hands are fisted in clothing, and they’re grinding up against each other like teenagers. Jenson moves his lips to Rob’s neck and kisses down to his collarbone, before nipping his teeth into the spot where his neck meets his shoulder. Rob hisses, snatching Jenson’s wrist and pinning it to the wall above his head.

“Oi, leave a mark and you’re in trouble.”

“Sounds like fun,” Jenson smiles wickedly, looking up at his arm held above him. Rob’s reply is a bruising smash of lips, aggressive and commanding and demanding all at the same time that has Jenson fighting back for dominance, wondering for a brief second if he’s out of his depth here. Rob’s other hand moves to the back of Jenson’s neck to tilt his head and keep their lips pressed together, whilst Jenson finds back pockets and pulls their hips together roughly, both of them moaning at the contact.

It was never going to be long, slow, or sensual – they’re in an airport toilet on a plane full of their colleagues, frustrated at life and slightly drunk. Jenson’s hand moves to start palming at Rob’s crotch, until Rob breaks the kiss to drop his head and try to get his breathing under control. Then Jenson’s other hand comes round, it’s a clumsy fumble with buttons and zips and his hand is in Rob’s boxers and _oh god_ that feels good, his cock springing free, and long fingers wrapping tightly around it. Rob wants to reciprocate, but he doesn’t have enough concentration to do so right now, instead just watching Jenson’s blue eyes blown wide, and his hand moving around the flushed length.

Then Jenson’s pushing him back again until he’s pressed up against the door, hoping for one brief moment that it can hold his weight before he’s distracted entirely by his trousers being dragged down to his thighs, and Jenson dropping to his knees.

They don’t have time to mess around – it can’t be too long until they land – but Jenson takes the time to kiss up the inside of Rob’s thighs. His shivers turn into a whimper when kisses become a darting tongue that trails briefly over his balls before taking its time to lick from the very base to the very tip of his now aching cock. He does it again, and again, each time finishing with a swirl around the tip or a flick into his slit, and Rob has to fight the urge to grab the back of Jenson’s head and force him down onto his cock _right now_ , because he _really_ can’t be doing with being teased at the moment. Instead he just screws his hands up into fists and groans incoherently. Jenson chuckles, Rob attempts to glare down at him, and without warning and with his eyes still fixed on Rob’s he takes the entire length into his mouth, his throat closing around the head as he takes it deeper, the engineer choking out a gasp as he does so. Rob doesn’t have the chance to wonder where he learnt to do that so well, because Jenson just laughed at his expression and the vibrations have gone straight to his cock as well, leaving all of his brainpower engaged with keeping himself quiet and standing upright. Jenson's mouth is hot and wet, his lips tight, and his cheeks hollow obscenely as he pulls back.

“ _Fuck_!” is all Rob can manage as Jenson starts up a rhythm, his tongue pushing and playing along the length, one hand stroking the base and the other starting to play with his balls, leaving Rob trembling and his breathing ragged. It looks like Jenson is enjoying every second, both Rob’s reactions and the feel of him in his mouth, all of his attention completely focussed on taking the engineer apart under his hands and lips and tongue. It’s almost embarrassingly soon when Rob’s orgasm starts to build, bucking into Jenson’s mouth and arching off the door as he loses control of his movements, stuffing his hand into his mouth to keep himself quiet as he comes hard and with a stifled cry right down Jenson’s throat.

Rob’s bitten proper teethmarks into his hand, and he’s still not sure how loud he was... He glances down to see Jenson licking a dribble of come from his swollen lips, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, and with a self-satisfied grin. That’s an image he’s going to keep stored away for a _long_ time. A second later he adds the taste of himself on Jenson’s tongue to the list as well, as the driver stands to press a gentle and sloppy kiss to Rob’s lips, and they kiss lazily for a moment.

When he starts to get his breath back, Rob reaches his hand down between Jenson’s legs, and feels him still rock hard in his jeans. He wants to touch him properly, to take apart that practiced charm and see him raw and undone, but the in-flight announcement bing-bongs into life, dragging them back to reality as it tells them it’s time to fasten their seatbelts for landing.

“Fuck,” says Rob.  
  
Jenson just shrugs. "You win some, you lose some.” Then he grins again. “But if you wanted to come over for a drink at my hotel tonight, _I don’t think I’d say no_...” Jenson doesn’t need to add the wink, but he does, and lets himself out of the toilet in one swift movement, leaving Rob with his trousers still undone and scrabbling to lock the door behind him.

“Jesus,” he murmurs, catching sight of himself in the mirror, totally debauched, hair a mess and skin flushed, before grinning and hastily tucking himself back in. _Why not,_ he thinks; drinks at Jenson’s tonight sounds like the best idea he’s had since, well, about twenty minutes ago...


End file.
